


not even at hogwarts

by multicorn



Category: Glee
Genre: (because how do you communicate with the reanimated corpse of a giant squid?), Bestiality, Bondage, Consent Issues, Dubious Consentacles, Necrophilia, Octopi & Squid, Other, Tentacle Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-20
Updated: 2014-09-20
Packaged: 2018-02-18 02:29:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2331920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/multicorn/pseuds/multicorn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Instead of visiting Blaine, or Blaine visiting him, or anything that happened in PUC... Kurt goes to D.C. to visit his Dad the first Christmas he's living in New York.  He goes to the Museum of Natural History one day, and he's impressed by the giant squid.  Then he comes back at night, and things progress.</p>
            </blockquote>





	not even at hogwarts

**Author's Note:**

> for spaceorphan18, who dared me to write Kurt/giant squid, because reasons and love always.

So. Let's say Kurt's living in New York, single, it's his first year there. He and Blaine aren't back together yet; it's the middle of winter, after Blaine cheated on him and they broke up, and they're just starting to be friends again. But he's not going to Lima, like he promised. Blaine's parents are taking him on a trip out of state, anyway, so there wouldn't be much point. He's going to visit his Dad in D.C., and Carole and Finn will both meet them there in a couple of days, when McKinley's winter break starts, but NYADA's starts earlier, and Isabelle shoos him away, so for a few days it's just Kurt and his Dad. 

And his Dad still has meetings, sometimes. Congress isn't in session but the work of a lawmaker is never done. So Kurt spends odd mornings and afternoons visiting the shopping - it's not that great - then the monuments and the museums. Today he's in Natural History, in the Sant Ocean Hall, shuddering at the squishiness of the fish preserved in formaldehyde and intrigued by the sight of the pointy shells. If only they weren't all behind glass - ! He'll have to look for miniature versions, maybe, as pins or to make his own, in the museum gift shop. He drifts further back into the hall, wrinkling his nose at the penguin which is _definitely not a fish,_ and fetches up against a large horizontal tank. 

Inside is a squid. 

Well - he thinks it used to be a squid. The label says _Giant Squid_ , and it is enormous. But it's coming apart now, the band of flesh above its eyes fuzzy as it decomposes in the liquid the beast is floating in. Its tentacles are floating out in front of it, long and thick with suckers that are also deteriorating, and two even longer that get quite thin for most of their length before flattening out into blade-like forms at the ends. But even the shorter ones… they're several feet, probably. More than a yard. And the squid itself is creepy, sure…. 

(But it couldn't _do_ anything.) 

He doesn't know what he's even thinking. But he traces the tentacles, back and forth, with his eyes over and around, with his hand slowly on the glass. People come and people go, but if he doesn't move, no one notices. It's not unusual, actually, to get stuck standing here by the squid. 

Eventually he comes back to himself; he has to meet his father for dinner, the museum will be closing soon and he's only seen part of this one hall, he needs more to make a report on. And he still hasn't checked for the shells. 

He resolves to come back, though, later tonight. 

~ 

And he does. It's not hard to break into the museum; a rendition of "Eye Of The Tiger," _Night at the Museum_ edition, gets the guard to open up the doors, and he walks into the museum, echoes of the last few notes blending into echoes of the unhurried steps he takes across the smooth tiled floor. 

He takes a deep breath when he gets to the Ocean Hall, and takes a step inside. The blue paint and the faint foggy light around him remind him of the depths of the sea, high pressures where humans could never go and light barely penetrates, where, he thinks he remembers, the giant squid lives. 

He's nervous, but so excited. And a break in's never gone as easily as this. It was meant to be. 

He touches a few of the other cases as he walks into the room; not delaying much, just for grounding and luck. And soon enough he's standing in front of the squid. It looks bigger, now, in the dark. The limits of its tentacles harder to see, fading out in the limits at the edge of his vision. 

He puts both hands on the case in front of him, and sings "Under the Sea." 

The glass of the case moves first - he feels it shifting, and takes his hands off. Then the formaldehyde splashes at his feet. It smells odd, and he takes a step back, too late to protect his boots which have already been hit of course, but at least they're waterproof... 

And a long tentacle shoots up out of the case, and wraps itself three times around his waist. He gasps; it takes advantage of the motion, probably on instinct, to tighten some more, and, _wow_. This was the best idea ever. It's so hot; he's so hard, as he stumbles to undo and push down his pants, as three of the thicker tentacles with suckers squim and lift their way out of the tank to stroke around and between his newly bared legs. He goes weak the in knees, pushed off balance, but more tentacles come out to wrap behind his shoulders as the body - no, head - of the squid lists backward in the case, counterweighting him. He can't move, he can barely breathe. He has no idea what's going to happen but he's so insanely turned on. 

The tentacles with the suckers wrap one around each leg, the suckers opening and closing, just a little like kisses on his skin, over and over and all over at once, he shivers with the too-much-ness of it but tries to let his legs fall open. He can't move them, but the tentacles must be able to read his intentions, because in fact they stretch his thighs wider, so he can feel the start of a burn in them, as the tentacle between his legs comes up to tease at his cock. It rubs over the head, then one side to another, and he would buck into it but he can't, and this, nothing loving or meaningful but this, a surreal encounter with an unreal monster, is the most erotic experience he's ever had in his life. 

He needs something more, though, he shakes with it, even though he's terrified. Because he brought lube, it's in his bag, but he can't reach; and the tentacles are shockingly slimy, but still, he's not sure it will be enough. Still, he writhes in the beast's grasp, panting until he finally says, _please, more,_ and it probably doesn't speak any language but it gags him with the flat end of the first long tentacle in his mouth, and he chokes around it, jaws forced wide. Still wanting. 

The tentacles work for a while; two more come out of the case, which is seven over all, as well as one of the two long ones, and massage his chest through his shirt. It's dripping and wet after a minute, disgusting after two; his nipples stand up and get ignored, but this isn't what he's wanted, and he doubts, for a moment. Will the squid fulfill his dreams? 

Then, shockingly, the tentacle that's been caressing his hungry cock draws away; the tentacles wrapped strongly now around both of his thighs hitch them forward, and the tentacles around his back and waist tighten too. And there's the tip of a thick tentacle, poking, pointing itself and flattening again, in the crease of his ass. 

He swallows, but he only tastes the strange bitterness of formaldehyde; he writggles, but he can barely move, caught still. All he can do is wait and wait, breathlessly, wantonly, as the tip of the tentacle pushes and pulls and prods its way in. Then it is, and, _oh my god_. He's never felt anything like this before. It must have contracted to get in, because it expands right inside the rim of his asshole, fleshy and soft but still insistent, and tears come to his eyes from how right this feels, visceral and inexplicable but his favorite secret, here in the dark. 

It contracts again, and he mourns the loss; but then it pushes in, deeper, and thicker yet at his rim, with little suckers at this point around his hole, grasping the soft flesh right around it, and he can't - he can't contain this much pleasure. There's no way, it's impossible, but he wants still more. 

So does the beast. It works its way in slowly, one tentacle, the others barely moving to massage him, to remind him of their existence, and he feels like he's narrowed to one point anyway. A point that he can't see, can't touch, can't feel unless there's something inside him, but when there is it's everything, and now it's more than that. 

The suckers are playing with him, now, inside the walls of his ass as well as the rim; the tentacle's moving in and out, thrusting to no discernible rhythm but the sound of eldritch music he can't hear, or the back and forth of phantom tides. He feels himself moved by it, slightly, despite the firm hold of the other tentacles, up and down on this strange thing in his ass, and as it fucks him he's already surrendered to pleasure, but the roaring in his ears doesn't stop, the speeding of his heart doesn't crescendo, he feels himself suspended at the most familiar brink over and over again but he doesn't come. 

He could almost sob for it, now, but he doesn't know what to do. Every avenue of communication has already been closed to him; all he can do is want and wait. And he does. As he's enjoying, but it's a torture, because when will he get to stop…? 

Eventually the tentacle pulls out of his ass - abruptly, he hadn't expected it - and he wants to cry for real. Wants to scream. In the middle of the museum, like this. He just wanted to finish - 

And the two tentacles acround his legs wind up even further to pull apart his ass cheeks, flesh compressing under their grip, and _the_ tentacle plunges back in. And he comes - it's a flash of light in the dark night, stronger than he could ever imagine, though a little painful, too. He's shaky and out of it for a moment, and when he's standing straight on his feet again, the tentacles are back in the case, the lid closed, only a puddle and his fucked-out state to tell what's happened here. 

He whistles softly, staggers backwards, and falls to the floor. Just for a moment. He did that. _He_ did _that_ …. 

It felt amazing. 

Well, he chuckles to himself. Of course it did. He does up his pants, they're rumpled and stained but there's no helping it, and gets the towel out of his bag to wipe away as much as he can of the slime the squid had left. Then he packs it away, and walks out of the hall, nonchalantly out of the museum door. It's late at night; the Mall's near deserted, as the walks down the broad museum steps, the wind freezing because it is almost Christmas after all, and he gets a heavier scarf out of his back and wraps it around his neck. 

There are taxis, but the hotel's not far from here, and he thinks the walk back will do him good.


End file.
